Some Luck Lies
by Corey B. Carter
Summary: Draco planned to go to the Auror Academy to get his man back. Draco may have changed since the war, but the success rate of his plans has not. ******** Re-upload: the original is at https:/bottom-draco-comm.dreamwidth.org/18089.html#cutid1 I am NOT the Author and gain nothing from this. Good day! Based on Legally Blonde


Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known. ~ Garrison Keillor

When people said Auror training was dangerous, they surely meant the risk to one's aesthetic sensibilities. Take, for example, the classroom designated for Basic Wizarding Law—because the less said about the hall of residence, the better. The greying paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, and the high windows were dark with grime. How could one think in such offensive surroundings?

The furnishings were no better: rows of low chairs and desks of discoloured wood that failed to accommodate Draco's long legs. They were clearly designed for the ape-like goons who were pushing their way into the room around him. There was only a narrow aisle to the empty front seats, so Draco was forced to stand waiting as his inconsiderate classmates stopped to chat or unpacked their bags before sitting. He glared at the back of Jones' head whilst she nattered on with MacCarthy and ignored Draco completely.

It might be worth enduring such circumstances if the professors related witty anecdotes or rare gems of wisdom. Instead, Draco was subjected to Professor Pax reciting hundreds, if not thousands, of archaic statutes of wizarding law in her scratchy nasal voice. Why were they expected to memorise law in the first place? If an Auror had a case, surely he would look up and read all the relevant law at that time. Expecting the trainees to memorise it in advance was a tedious waste of everyone's time. Further proof that the Ministry was run by short-sighted, small-minded fools.

'You still here?' a voice sneered from the seat next to him.

And then, far worse than the physical building, there were the dozens of louts who filled it—because apparently the Ministry had decided to let anyone with a wand try their hand at Auror training. Luckily the Ministry was equally eager to expel trainees, so that only about twenty of them remained after the first month. They were mainly loud, judgemental lumps like Ernie Macmillan, who Draco knew without looking would be attempting to morph his dopey face into a snarl to match his witless remark. The boy simply didn't have the assets necessary to look or act superior.

'You deaf?' Draco did wish Jones would squeeze herself into a seat and allow him to get past, although he suspected she was enjoying Macmillan's comments. 'Or do you still think you're too good to talk to anyone else?'

Macmillan was the type of pest who normally wouldn't warrant a response, but he was exceptional in that he had somehow managed to steal Draco's boyfriend.

Rigel Rosier-Black, son of the Ambassador to France and heir to the Rosier-Black fortune, had dropped Draco with no warning and some rubbish about careers and reputations. Mere days later, he'd been seen at Château Huppé having dinner with Macmillan. Draco was nobody's fool; he knew Macmillan had somehow convinced Rigel that he was a better breed of blonde pure-blood. As if that were possible.

If nothing else, Macmillan planned to be an Auror! He intended to sell his time and services for gold like a whore. A Malfoy might sit on the board at Hogwarts or St. Mungo's, but he would never do something as common as hold a job.

True that Draco was enrolled as a trainee Auror, but that was merely an academic enterprise. He had simply decided—upon hearing that Rigel and Macmillan would be attending as a couple—that learning more about the Dark Arts from the Ministry's perspective might be interesting. The Auror Academy might be dangerously close to a trade school, but Malfoys had long dabbled in such scholarly pursuits for their own enjoyment. Draco had no intention of being the first Malfoy to do a day's labour. He was simply there to help Rigel see the light. And when Rigel did come crawling, Draco planned to make him grovel.

Rigel would come back—it was only a question of time—because Draco was simply the better choice. In addition to being a proper gentleman, Draco was also thinner, wittier, more articulate, better dressed, and had a perfect complexion. Macmillan still wore his Hufflepuff colours of yellow and black: two that would never flatter his round, ruddy face or straw-like hair.

Not that Draco was blind to Macmillan's slight advantage in social standing: many considered him a war hero and he was friendly with Minister Shacklebolt. That was obviously the leverage Macmillan had used on Rigel in the first place. However, that was a temporary advantage. Opinions and Ministers changed, but Malfoys were forever.

Macmillan was still talking, oblivious to Draco's lack of attention. It was very tempting to hex the git, but Draco knew which of them would be removed from the programme were he ever to give in to Macmillan's baiting and draw his wand. Better to let Macmillan think he'd won this little battle. Draco would win the war. Nobly, he held his tongue until Jones finally took her seat so Draco could get by.

'Sit down and shut up, you lot.' The deep voice rang through the small room, and Draco dropped into the first empty seat. Head Auror Robards was a small portly man, but everything from his bark of a voice to his piercing eyes commanded respect. Even from Draco.

'Right. I'm here to tell those of you who've managed to hang around so far that practical training starts this afternoon. That's right, after lunch you'll actually get to use your wand. Try not to hurt yourselves.' He looked over the group with disdain. 'I suspect a fair number of you won't last the day.' With no further details, he marched out of the classroom, ignoring the rumble of excitement that rose up in his wake.

Professor Pax tottered out to the front of the room and tried valiantly to lecture on potion laws, but her thin voice couldn't carry over the growing whispers. Draco didn't blame his classmates for ignoring her. He would have too, if he didn't have an essay due in two days and no textbook to work from. It had been stolen—again—and Flourish and Blotts was sold out, so he'd need the lecture notes for reference. He didn't actually care about his marks, but he was one missing essay short of being removed from the Academy, and thus Rigel. He sighed in defeat as he picked up his bag and moved to the front row where he might have a chance of hearing.

His determination to win Rigel back allowed him to put up with the indignities he'd suffered that autumn. The other trainees had locked him out of hall, Vanished his essays, tripped him, hexed him, and done their best to remind him he was unwelcome. Macmillan had looked so smug each time a prank had made Draco late to class or empty-handed as essays were collected. That smug look was almost more motivating than Rigel's dazzling eyes and smooth voice.

Draco realised he wasn't concentrating on the lecture. He glared at Professor Pax and forced himself to hear her words over the rising noise around him. He would make up for her mediocre lecturing by being an exemplary pupil. It wasn't easy, but by the time the class finally ended—and Draco's classmates abandoned any attempt to keep their voices down—he had everything he needed for his essay.

'Think we'll start with Dark Curses?' MacCarthy asked his usual gathering of sycophants as he gathered his things and shoved them into his ratty canvas bag. The Ravenclaw patch on the front was faded and spoke of the years he'd been out of school hiding abroad. Draco tucked his own things away carefully before shouldering the soft strap of his Parisian leather bag. He fell in step behind the foolish wizard and his group, thus subjecting himself to more of their asinine conversation as they made their way to the cafeteria for lunch.

'I think we'll start with Disarming,' a dark-haired witch said—Connor? O'Connell? She was quiet and had been home schooled by her reclusive family, so Draco knew almost nothing about her. 'It's what Harry Potter used.' She simpered the Chosen Git's name, and it made Draco want to wretch.

He'd spent the last year at Beauxbatons finishing his education and had enjoyed the French attitude of simply moving forward after the war. Everyone had been much too civilised to so much as glance at Draco's Dark Mark or speak of his past misdeeds. It was too much to hope, apparently, that the British would be equally sophisticated.

'If we start with Disarming, it will be because it's a good defensive spell, not because a famous wizard used it.' Draco looked over at the speaker: a familiar witch with short auburn hair. He often wondered if she'd been at Hogwarts with him, but his memories always turned to painful things before he placed her face. Better not to try.

'However,' the auburn-haired witch continued, 'I think it's more likely that we'd start with basic shields on our first day.' Draco arched an eyebrow at the discovery of one other trainee with a brain. Too bad she likely hated him, whoever she was.

He stopped when he felt a strong hand on his arm and turned to see Rigel at his side. Where he belongs, his mind offered. This close, Draco could see just how blue his eyes were behind his silky black locks. He'd spent so many months staring into those eyes.

'Draco, I don't know what you're playing at, but it's time to stop,' Rigel pleaded. 'We're using wands today! I don't want you to get hurt.'

Hurt? Draco snatched his arm away. He distinctly remembered doing better than Rigel in every class back at Beauxbatons. If either of them were at risk of injury, it was Rigel. 'Excuse me?' He tried to keep his voice level, but there was a tremor of annoyance.

'I know you, Draco. You like to sleep in, eat pastries, and buy cashmere scarves to match your mood. A wild night involves clubbing until dawn, not fighting Dark wizards.' Rigel's eyes were so wide with what had to be pity. 'It's flattering that you followed me here, but we're over. You need to accept that before you get hurt.'

Draco's pride burned. 'I am not going to get hurt! It's spell practice, Rigel, not a raid on Dark wizards. I doubt they'll start off with dodging the Killing Curse.' He stood up straighter so that Rigel had to lift his chin to meet his eyes. 'Need I remind you that I had the Dark Lord living in my home?'

'And you said you spent the whole time hiding in your room,' Rigel said in that way he thought was soothing but was actually patronising. Draco had forgotten that tone.

'Because I was an untrained child, and he was the most powerful Dark wizard of his time!' Rigel's little frown and raised brow made it clear that he didn't believe a word. Draco suddenly felt disgusted. 'And I didn't follow you here,' he lied. 'I am here to learn how to defend myself so that I won't have to hide the next time I meet a Dark wizard.'

Draco briefly wondered how his life would have been different if he had been trained before the Dark Lord's resurrection. Would he have fought back? He shook away the irrelevant hypothetical.

Instead he looked into the big blue eyes of the man he had thought he loved and saw nothing but doubt. Rigel really thought he was useless. They had been inseparable for months, and the man thought Draco would never amount to more than a pastry-eating, scarf-buyer.

'Excuse me,' Draco said coldly as he walked away. 'I have work to do.'

Draco was the first to arrive at the practical training room after lunch. He'd had little interest in eating anything, especially not the slop that was served in the Academy cafeteria. Granger had probably freed all of the house-elves, and the Ministry had hired some half-wit to cook instead. He had an image of Stanley Shunpike ladling stew from a pot and shuddered.

Walking into the long room, he saw that it was lined with mirrors like a ballet studio. The mirrors and pale ceiling bore scorch marks from past spells that had missed their mark, and the wooden floor was scuffed, cracked, and pocked. It was a room with no aesthetic merit. While the drab décor of most of the Academy drove Draco spare, he supposed this was the one place it was appropriate.

He stopped in the middle of the room and stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall. He was tall, thin, and pale, as he'd always been, but he looked like a different person than the boy who'd lived through a war. The relaxation and regular meals he had enjoyed for the past year had allowed his slender build to fill in with lean muscle. His skin was pink-tinted instead of sallow, and there were no dark smudges under his eyes. His features were sharp and angular, reflecting his Malfoy and Black heritage in each fine bone and strong line.

The pale purple shirt he wore was flattering against his fair complexion, and the silver pendant around his neck matched the shade of his eyes. His fitted, dark jeans—yes, Muggles were apparently good for something—showed off his long legs and fit perfectly into his tall dragon-skin boots. Rigel could mock his frequent shopping trips, but Draco liked finding clothing that worked with his unique colouring and build. No one looked like him, and his wardrobe would flatter no one else the way it did Draco.

'Malfoy?'

Draco whipped around at the familiar voice. 'Potter,' he sneered. The junior Auror was standing awkwardly just inside the doorway as if he hadn't ruled out a hasty exit. He wore a baggy jumper and faded jeans that would have been fashionable in the Muggle world a decade ago—Yes, Draco had done his research. The man's formless clothing also managed to hide his physique from Draco's appraising gaze. He was probably as scrawny as ever. Potter's famous green eyes looked as owlish as ever behind his ridiculous round glasses. The strigine theme continued to Potter's hair, which was surely a nesting spot in need of owlets. What did it say for the wizarding world that this was their saviour?

'H-hi. You look . . .' Potter's unwanted opinions were thwarted by his own inability to form simple utterances.

Draco ignored him and turned away. Why was Potter there in the first place? He, Longbottom, and Weasley had done their academy training the year before, so they should be junior Aurors getting field training by now. Draco prayed for someone to enter the room and save him from Potter's blubbering. Shockingly, the gods listened. Sort of. Weasley, Longbottom, and Macmillan walked into the room. Was everyone Draco had ever picked on at school meeting up today? Potter went to join them, and they nattered away loudly like the heathens they were.

They were probably planning Draco's death. 'That Malfoy?' the Weasel asked. Draco pretended not to hear, even as his stomach clenched. 'What's he doing here?'

'Stalking Rigel,' Macmillan said. 'They dated a bit at Beauxbatons, and Malfoy won't let it go.' Draco seethed at being depicted as the clingy ex, especially after the pity Rigel had just dumped on him. Before he could do anything rash, however, the door opened and more trainees poured in. With them was an older man bearing several Curse scars who looked as though he were following Mad-Eye Moody's guide to becoming catfood. He still had both eyes and legs, but he was missing two fingers and his awkward gait spoke of a Curse injury too Dark to fully heal. Like Moody, his hair was a frizzled grey mess and his face looked torn apart. Draco wondered if Potter would look like that one day.

'I see what Robards meant,' the man muttered darkly in a raspy voice. 'You lot look better suited to a pantomime than duelling. Games and Sports will have some new interns by the end of the week.' The ugly curl of his lip showed what he thought of sport. 'Well, best get started then. I'm Scours, and I'm here to see if any of you would actually make a decent Auror. Greens, up here.' Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom hurried to his side. 'Greeners, against the wall.'

Assuming that if junior Aurors were Greens, Scours must mean the trainees, Draco backed up against the wall. The familiar auburn-haired witch from earlier did the same, and they stood side by side as the rest of the trainees followed suit.

'All right, you lot. Let's see if any of you can put up a decent shield.'

Draco glanced at the girl next to him and saw her smug grin at having correctly predicted the curriculum. A moment later, she had a very strong shield pulsing in front of her body.

'Nice work, Bones,' Scours called over to her. Bones, that's right. Hufflepuff. She looked more sophisticated without her frumpy, plaited hair. He remembered that most of her family had been killed by Death Eaters and was disappointed to realise that the only other trainee who wasn't a simpering fool had the most reason to hate him. They really were all getting together to kill him.

She met his eye and raised an eyebrow. 'Finally recognised me?' She didn't sound angry or hateful.

Draco was surprised enough to reply. 'You cut your hair.'

Her other eyebrow rose. 'So you do pay attention to people other than yourself.'

Draco was baffled. Of course he paid attention! Did she really think he was guileless? One could not get ahead in life without knowing the other players: their strengths and weaknesses. That knowledge took constant observation and research, although he could admit to not meeting the standard to which he'd been trained.

His father had lectured him on every family in the wizarding world long before Hogwarts. He had described the Bones family as academically clever but naïve and Muggle-loving. This girl had confirmed his father's assessment back in their first-year with her strong marks—despite her House—and poor choice of friends.

Scours called for their attention back. 'It seems some of you actually know how to cast a spell.' He glanced to the side where Longbottom was leading a sobbing wizard from the room. 'Let's try Disarming.' He looked at Weasley and Potter. 'The Greens'll demonstrate for you. Weasley! Disarm Potter.' Weasley did so with a small twitch of his hand and a murmur. Scours scowled. 'I heard that,' he growled. 'Disarm Potter silently!'

Draco smiled as Weasley flushed. It never grew tiring to watch that freckled face go as bright as his hideous hair. Weasley turned to Potter and glared in obvious concentration. It wasn't really his strong suit, was it? Potter's wand—the one he'd had since first-year, not the one he'd stolen from Draco—again flew from Potter's hand into Weasley's. The ginger looked like a well-fed mutt after a meal, but Scours ignored him to bark at the trainees. 'Your turn. Pair up!'

Draco's good mood at watching Weasley get bossed around was ruined as irritation flooded his chest. There had been no partner work in their training so far: it had all been tedious lectures and essays. Now everyone would enjoy feeling superior at they turned their backs on him. It wasn't as if he—

His wand flew from his hand.

He turned to see Bones holding his new cherry wood wand and tutting at him. 'You're making it too easy,' she chided. 'At least try to hold on.'

'I was thinking important thoughts.' He sniffed, as he shrugged to cover his surprise.

Her eyes crinkled as she laughed. 'Someone has to,' she said with a smile as she tossed his wand back.

The moment he caught it, he cast a silent Disarming charm and sent her wand flying.

'Good force,' she said without mentioning his failure to actually catch her wand.

He waited for some snide comment, but instead she stood waiting for him to Summon and return her wand. Why was she playing nice? Was this revenge through kindness or the product of the Hufflepuff obsession with fairness and equality? He loathed the fact that he had fallen so far that a Hufflepuff saw him as one of her own.

'Hi, Susan,' came a familiar voice from behind him.

Bones smiled and waved. 'Hi, Neville.'

Draco turned to see Longbottom standing next to them and took a careful step backwards. Longbottom was no longer the spineless Squib who'd started Hogwarts, and Draco feared what the wizard might do with his new-found prowess. Luckily he seemed entirely focused on Bones.

'We're supposed to be helping out, but I think some of the trainees need a lot more than a few pointers.' He glanced over his shoulder at a trainee who had yet to pronounce the incantation properly. He turned back to Bones. 'Can I see your Disarming Charm?'

'Sure. Expelliarmus!'

Draco's wand flew from his hand again, despite his best grip.

'Good job,' Longbottom said without acknowledging Draco. Draco was happy to be ignored by an enemy with more power and influence than he had any hope of regaining in the near future. The public adored their great snake-killer, so he could probably sever Draco's limbs without consequence. 'Try it silently. You don't want a perpetrator to know which spell you're casting.'

Bones tossed Draco's wand back to him and raised an eyebrow in challenge. He held his wand as tightly as he could as she raised her own. Her spell pulled at his wand, but it was weaker than the spoken Charm and he was able to hold on.

'Well done, Malfoy.' Draco turned to find Harry Potter blinking at him for the second time that hour. Two times in a decade would be too much. 'Let's see you try.' Potter didn't sound mocking or snide, which was clearly an attempt to confuse Draco so he could be caught off guard. It wouldn't work, of course, because Draco would never drop his guard. Certainly not within sight of Potter.

Draco turned to face Bones and cast silently. Her hand jerked forward, but he did not get her wand. The little hiss she made showed it had hurt her to keep a firm grasp.

'Nice!' Potter smiled at him. Longbottom frowned at the floor. Bones looked close to laughter.

'Um . . . thanks?' Damn it. Potter's inarticulacy was catching!

'That's all for today,' Scours called. His weathered face was set into a deep frown. 'Don't want you overdoing it and getting hurt.' He glared at Jones, who was holding the fragments of her wand in a charred hand, and she started crying. 'This has certainly been . . . informative.' He was scowling at them and several trainees shifted their feet and looked down. 'I do not like having my time wasted and will promptly remove anyone undeserving of this opportunity.'

Jones ran out of the room and Scours nodded. 'For those who make it past today, expect to work very hard. He flicked his hand at them. 'Get out of here.'

Draco obeyed.

If Draco had lingered after practical training—which had not been an appealing prospect with the ghosts of his Hogwarts past all around—he would have seen Scours inform three trainees that they were not Auror material. From overheard conversation, Draco gathered that one wizard's shield had been broken by a sneeze.

It became apparent at the next training that a good shield was essential as Scours let his 'Greens' cast hexes at them. Weasley had flicked several Stinging hexes at Draco, but his shield had held through them all. Nothing like having a Dark Lord living in your house to make shield casting part of your bedtime routine.

In fact, Draco did rather well in practical training for several weeks. Those two years as a Death Eater had included plenty of spell work, and it felt good to show off his skills. He had been the shining star the week they reviewed Occlumency—Thank you, Auntie Bella, you old cow!

Then dueling started.

The two friendliest trainees, Bones and Gan, had dueled first as the other eight trainees watched. Gan, with his faint Hong Kong accent, graceful movements, and his impeccable wardrobe had been a pleasure to watch. Draco cursed the man for being so very straight, and then smirked when he saw the appreciative looks Macmillan was giving from Rigel's side. Apparently Draco wasn't the only one noticing how nicely Gan's trousers hung.

Bones lacked Gan's grace, but made up for it in pure force and determination. She used her will as much as her wand, and the spells screamed as they hit the ceiling and mirrors. When she finally hit Gan with a Stun, he was sent flying.

'Good work,' Scours called, as Bones helped Gan to his feet. 'Both of you. That's what I want to see.' He was less enthusiastic with the next few sets of duelers, but not as gruff as he'd been their first day. He called the next duel: Draco and O'Connor.

O'Connor began screaming out spells the moment the duel began; apparently she was done with being quiet and reclusive. With her dark hair so much like his aunt's and the slightly crazed pitch of her voice, Draco panicked. He was back in the Manor, surrounded by Death Eaters, they were throwing Unforgivables, they were going to kill him!

Later he realised that an Auror trainee was unlikely to use illegal spells during practice, but in the moment it felt real and he had surrendered to his instincts. There was no cover in the open room, so he Conjured a stone wall and threw himself behind it. He vaguely registered jeers and laughter from the other trainees. He peered over the wall to see O'Connor standing with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. She was saying something to Scours as she flailed her arm at Draco.

Draco braced himself for the dressing down he was sure to receive from the gruff instructor, but Scours didn't even glance his way. Instead, Scours turned to the rest of the trainees. 'That's enough for today,' he barked.

There were shouts and moans, but there were also sounds of gathered bags and shuffled feet. Draco stayed hidden behind his wall until the noise died down to silence. When he peeked up again, and saw Scours standing along. 'You have good instincts,' he said without looking at Draco. 'Let them laugh as they run straight into a Curse.' With a loud crack, Scours was gone.

Draco wished he had Apparition rights in the Academy so that he wouldn't have to face his peers. Instead, he Disillusioned himself before leaving the room. Some trainees—MacCarthy and his two remaining lackeys—were standing just down the passageway, but no one noticed Draco as he passed. Further proof that MacCarthy, for all his bragging, would make a rubbish Auror.

'He looked like he wet himself,' MacCarthy said loudly. His lackeys laughed. The reminder of Goyle and Crabbe was painful.

'He's such a coward.'

'I heard he spent the whole war hiding in the loo.'

The conversation washed over Draco. He'd heard it all before.

Draco was not asked to leave the program after his aborted duel. Quite the contrary. By the time the daffodils bloomed in his window box, Draco was one of only eight remaining trainees.

His classmates were as surprised as he was.

'I can't believe they haven't kicked you out yet,' Whitehorn muttered each day. She had been a year behind Draco in Slytherin and ostracised for embracing her father's Muggle heritage over the traditions of her pure-blood mother. Draco couldn't remember if he'd called her a Mudblood personally or to her face, but there was no love lost between them. He sometimes wondered if she were one of the trainees stealing his textbooks and Vanishing his essays.

Not that any of the other trainees wanted Draco there. Rigel wanted him gone out of some misguided attempt to protect him. Macmillan wanted him away from Rigel. MacCarthy often said that no Auror should bear the Dark Mark and had been livid when his lackeys had been sent packing instead of Draco. O'Connor, with her sheltered past and her black-and-white worldview, simply saw him as a 'bad guy'.

It was really only Bones and Gan who Draco didn't suspect of plotting against him, so that left five suspects for the current state of Draco's essay on conflict of interest ethics procedure: all of the ink had been Vanished. Draco stared at the frustratingly empty parchment and remembered the final warning he had been issued weeks before when he'd last failed to hand in an essay.

'One more missing assignment and you can pack your bags, Mr Malfoy.'

He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to crumple his useless essay. Instead, he dipped his quill in his inkpot and began rewriting it. It wouldn't be a good essay, especially as he had only forty minutes to write it, but it would keep him from being expelled.

With two minutes to spare, Draco finished his final sentence in scrawl that would make his childhood tutors cry. He stuffed his inkpot and quill in his bag and sprinted down the hall to the Practice and Procedures classroom at the end of the building. The door was still closed and MacCarthy and Whitehorn were leaning against the wall beside it.

Whitehorn's eyes went to Draco's essay. 'What's that?'

'My essay,' Draco drawled. 'Or did you forget they were due today?'

'But how did you—' She shut her mouth and glared at him. Well that answered who had Vanished his ink on the last essay.

MacCarthy took a step forward. 'Why don't you get the hint?' he spat. 'No one wants you here. No one wants you.'

Draco knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't. He had stilled his tongue for too long. 'The professors do or they would have kicked me out along with your friends.'

'They're probably just intimidated by the fact that you're a Death Eater and use the Dark Arts.'

MacCarthy had moved closer, but Draco refused to be intimidated by a man who clearly did not even understand what an Auror was. He took a deep breath. 'Yes, I'm sure that a group of Aurors' he let sarcasm saturate each word, 'are intimidated by a single trainee and the possibility of Dark spells.'

There was no knowing if MacCarthy actually understood Draco's point, but he clearly understood the tone. 'Let's settle this once and for all,' he said loudly. He drew his wand and Draco had to drop his essay to draw his own. Draco had a strong shield in front of him before MacCarthy could cast, but the shield did not protect his essay from MacCarthy's Incendio. The parchment was reduced to ashes.

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and the creak of the classroom door opening. He heard Professor Crispin's voice welcoming them and asking for their essays, and the shuffle of feet as his peers moved into the classroom. He just stared at the ashes by his feet.

'Mr Malfoy?' Draco looked up at Professor Crispin's round face. She had a dark eyebrow raised expectantly and a plump hand reached out. He looked from her empty hand to the one holding his classmates' essays and then over her shoulder to where the rest of the class was taking their seats. Whitehorn caught his eye and smirked at him. 'Your essay?'

His mouth opened but no sound came out.

'Mr Malfoy? Do you have your essay?' He shook his head. Her brow creased as she frowned. She looked annoyed and almost disappointed. 'I see.' She flicked her wand and the door behind her closed. They were alone in the long hallway.

When she spoke again, her voice was low. 'You know that this is the third offense?' He nodded. 'And you know that failing to turn in three assignments leads to automatic removal from the program?' He opened his mouth and then let it fall shut. What could he do? He could accuse MacCarthy, but it would be Whitehorn's and MacCarthy's word against his. Better to leave with dignity.

'MacCarthy destroyed it.'

For a moment Draco thought he'd spoken, but the voice was not his own.

Professor Crispin looked equally surprised as she glanced down the empty hallway.

'Finite.' With a shimmer, Harry Potter appeared beside them.

'Mr Potter. Your Disillusion Charm has come a long way.' A hint of amusement coloured Professor Crispin's usually dry tone. 'Practising it often?'

Potter shifted under her stare. 'It makes getting around a bit . . . faster.'

The inconvenience of adoring fans, Draco thought. What a hard life for the precious Saviour.

'And what was this about Mr MacCarthy?'

Potter transformed from blushing fool to self-righteous hero. 'I saw MacCarthy cast Incendio and destroy Malfoy's essay.'

Professor Crispin's whole face opened in surprise. She looked from Potter to Draco. 'Is this true?' Draco nodded. She studied him with her shrewd brown eyes as he listened to his heart beating in his chest. He wondered if she could hear it, too. It was certainly loud enough. 'And is this the first such instance?'

Draco blinked. 'Professor?'

She stood up straighter, although it made little difference to her small stature. 'You have twice before failed to turn in an essay. Did you write those essays?'

He paused only for a moment. 'Yes, Professor.'

'And were those essays destroyed before they could be handed in?'

'No, Professor. They were Vanished.'

'Was it Mr MacCarthy?'

It was certainly likely, but Draco could not make accusations without proof. It could too easily be turned against him. 'I didn't see who cast the spell, only that it disappeared right in front of me. There is a sizeable list of suspects with motive.' He remembered that Whitehorn was also a likely suspect and there were probably many more.

Professor Crispin gave him a wry smile. 'I can imagine. And why did you never mention this before?'

Draco could think of a hundred reasons, and they were all variations of 'no one would believe me or care'.

'If not for Mr Potter here, you would have been removed from the program erroneously.'

Draco frowned at the reminder that Potter had saved him again. It would almost be better to be wrongly expelled than to owe Potter another debt. Of course, Draco had not spoken in his own defence when he'd had the chance; three times he'd stayed silent and let his enemies win. But that was because—unlike Potter—he could not expect to be believed.

The hard look in Crispin's eye showed she would wait as long as necessary for an explanation.

'I believed it would be a matter of my word against MacCarthy's.'

'And you didn't think we'd believe someone who had once supported Voldemort.'

Even as he flinched, Draco felt a reluctant flash of admiration at her calm use of the Dark Lord's name. He stared at her and dared her to deny that his word carried the same weight as MacCarthy's.

She took his dare. 'Mr Malfoy,' she said in the firm voice she used for lecturing, 'you were cleared of charges after the war in light of your age and other factors. You are as innocent as Mr MacCarthy, despite having received an ugly tattoo.' Oddly, she looked rather earnest. 'You are excused from the essay, and I will speak to Mr MacCarthy after class. Now find your seat so we may move on.' She stepped aside and let Draco enter.

MacCarthy and Whitehorn both looked furious to see him, but they remained silent during the following lecture on raid protocol.

MacCarthy left the program. Draco hadn't stayed after class when Professor Crispin instructed MacCarthy into her office, but rumour had it that he and Professor Crispin had been shouting at each other by the time MacCarthy stormed out. Draco hoped that MacCarthy's absence might bring some peace, but Whitehorn grew nastier to fill the void.

She threw Hexes and slurs whenever she saw him, telling him that she would ensure he failed. He kept a permanent shield on his bag and complicated wards on his room, and yet she still managed to destroy an entire set of textbooks. Of course, her enthusiasm also increased her risk of getting caught. Which she was. Draco smiled as she was told to pack her things and leave; it was well worth a new set of textbooks just to see the back of her.

Robards was waiting for them at practical training the day after she left. 'As there's only six of you left, I think it's time to let you get some field exposure. We have three junior Aurors, so each of them will babysit two of you.' Rigel opened his mouth, but Robards spoke over him. 'You get Greens because I need my experienced Aurors doing the complex and dangerous operations that you can only dream of. Next year, you can start sitting at the adult table now and then. Maybe.'

Draco knew which Green he would get. It was never a question in his mind. He only wondered who else would be assigned to Potter. If he were honest with himself, and he did try to be these days, he would admit he wanted Bones. She was actually decent company. Gan would be fine, too. He wasn't as witty as Bones, but he was good with spells and didn't make snide comments about Draco's past.

A few months ago, he would have been desperate to be paired with Rigel. Now, he wondered what he had been thinking all those months they'd been together. Although Rigel would be better than O'Connor or—

'Macmillan and Malfoy, you're with Potter.' Of course. Two war heroes and a Death Eater. It sounded like the title of a play or the beginning of a joke. It felt like a joke.

Draco smiled as Scours assigned Bones and Rigel to Weasley. He knew that Bones didn't like Rigel—she'd said as much when he'd asked why she spent so little time with Macmillan these days—and he felt some satisfaction in her being unhappy, too. She seemed to read his thoughts as she discreetly flicked him off behind Rigel's back.

They broke into their groups, and Potter pulled out a manila envelope. He was wearing short sleeves, and Draco noticed how muscular his forearms had become. The way the cotton t-shirt stretched across his chest showed development there as well. So Potter wasn't a scrawny boy anymore. Potter looked up from the envelope and met his eye. He grinned a goofy lopsided grin that made Draco feel unexpectedly warm.

Potter looked back at the envelope. 'I haven't—' He coughed to clear his throat. 'I haven't looked inside it yet. You're meant to see the whole process.' Potter went on to explain the procedure around case assignments surprisingly well. Apparently he was capable of sentence formation now and then. 'This is a real case. One they think we can solve.'

Macmillan puffed out his chest. 'I have no doubt.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'What's the case?' Potter opened the envelope and removed three identical files. Draco flipped one open and smiled. Apparently someone had finally tipped off the Ministry that The Pawned Soul in Bristol sold Dark artefacts. Draco could have told them that years ago. He had been there with his father and knew the place made Borgin and Burkes seem like a toy shop.

'Well, Malfoy? This is your field, is it not?' Macmillan was trying to look haughty again. 'Are you going to fill us in, or do you need to tip off your cronies first?'

Potter cut in before Draco could reply. 'Hey, Ernie, come on. You can't just assume that Malfoy knows about every—'

'They carry Dark artefacts and controlled and illegal potions ingredients.' It was rewarding to see Potter's mouth snap shut. 'At least they used to. I haven't been in almost two years, but at that time they had a hidden room for select customers.'

Macmillan looked smug. 'So quick to sell out your old friends, aren't you?'

'The proprietor of The Pawned Soul has no friends.'

'Like you then.'

'Shut up!' Potter had stepped between them. 'Listen, this case may take weeks or even months, and I'm not sitting here listening to you two squabble.' Potter ran his hand through his messy hair. 'Why don't we each take some time with the file and meet up again at dinner?'

Dinner was no better. Draco might—not that he was admitting to anything—have cast a Crotch-Crushing Hex on Macmillan after the pompous arse implied that Umbridge had been pegging Draco in fifth-year. The mere suggestion was disgusting on so many levels. In the end, Potter divided the work and gave them assignments to research independently.

'Malfoy, this is really good,' Potter said brightly as he picked at the greasy mess that had been offered for dinner. Draco had binned everything but the bread roll, but Potter seemed determine to eat every disgusting bite.

Potter was reading Draco's summary of the Dark items he'd seen at The Pawned Soul and the wizarding laws relating to the purchase, possession, or sale of such items. Draco had been thorough in his research, including case law as well as legislation passed by the Wizengamot, and had written a detailed analysis of why certain laws were or were not relevant. It was a perfect report, which was basically what Potter had just said.

Except that Potter would never compliment Draco. Yes, he'd acted completely civil since Auror training had pushed him back into Draco's life, but Draco didn't believe that either. Why would Potter want to be civil after so many years and a war? More likely that Potter had finally developed some subtlety in his insults.

'Don't sound surprised, Potter.' He tried for low and menacing, but it might have come across a bit whiny.

Potter pulled his head back and looked at Draco from under a furrowed brow. 'I wasn't! I just meant . . . ' He growled and tugged at his hair. 'You are so infuriating!' Potter snapped. That was more familiar.

Vaguely impressed that the man had spoken a five syllable word, Draco waited to see if Potter would manage another. He didn't. Instead he took a deep breath, looked up with wide eyes, and pleaded, 'Can't we just start over? I'm supposed to be helping you with this case and it's not going to work if you're looking for an insult in everything I say.'

'Don't be so naïve. Do you really think we can brush aside eight and a half years of animosity?' He paused to consider whether he should have chosen a simpler word.

'It hasn't been eight and a half years of animosity! We've got along fine this year and I didn't even see you the year before. Yes, we were little shits to each other as children, but we've also saved each other's lives.' Potter's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone. He didn't look the least bit owlish. 'Don't you think that makes up for . . . We've got to get along. You and Ernie, too.' A stubborn firmness had crept into his tone, and Draco knew he wouldn't drop the matter.

Draco considered. There were certain advantages to hiding his disdain and letting Macmillan lower his guard. 'Fine. I will be civil, if Macmillan extends the same courtesy.'

'And me? Can you try to believe that I'm actually trying to help you?'

Help me? Was he Potter's latest kitten in a tree? Angry heat ran up Draco's spine forcing his back straight. 'I don't need to be saved,' he spat.

Potter's owl impression was back. 'I didn't say . . . Damn it, Malfoy! You're doing it again. You can't take everything I say in the worst possible way!'

Draco glared.

'Look, all I was saying is that I'm supposed to be helping you and Ernie. It's not that I think you are helpless or pathetic, it's just . . . Why is it such a big deal? Is there some law that Malfoys don't need help?'

'We don't.' Draco's voice sounded as cold as he felt.

'How about you?'

'Excuse me?'

'Maybe Malfoys don't, but how about you?' Potter's eyes were so fierce and yet so soft. It made Draco feel horrible vulnerable. 'How about Draco?'

Hearing his name on Potter's tongue made a shiver run down his spine. He stood up so that he had to look down his nose at Potter. 'I never gave you permission to use my given name.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake!' Potter stood up as well and grabbed his cloak. 'I don't know what world you're living in, but it's not this one.'

Draco watched as Potter threw on his cloak and stormed away. He couldn't help but be impressed by the furious swish of the man's cloak as it followed him.

Potter must have spoken to Macmillan because the snide comments stopped and even the glares had lessened—at least when Potter was looking.

'I still think we should have Malfoy pose as a customer.' Macmillan's arms were crossed petulantly across his chest as he slouched against the wall in a corner of the Academy's library. His poor posture was ruining the lines of his shirt, making it even less flattering. 'Then we can bust them for selling as well as possession.'

Draco shook his head. There was no way he was going to purchase Dark artefacts on the Ministry's watch.

'No. It's too dangerous.' That was Potter playing hero again. Although it was surprising that he was advocating caution and planning after years of charging into danger head first.

'Come on, Harry. He's walking into a shop with us watching his back. No one's going to get hurt!'

'No! We search the place at night and charge them with possession. The proprietor is old enough that the difference in sentence won't matter, and his shop assistant is going to walk either way.'

Macmillan turned to Draco. 'What do you think?' He looked as surprised by his own question as Draco was. Perhaps surprise was why Draco answered honestly.

'Too many people would love to catch me buying Dark artefacts.'

'But it's part of a case!' Potter was still so naïve. Macmillan, however, looked at Draco as if considering him for the first time.

'No, he's right. He's not an Auror, yet, so it could be twisted against him.' He let out a sigh. 'Fine. The initial reports should be enough to get a warrant. We raid the place at night.'

Potter sighed too, although his spoke of relief. 'Thank you. I'll get the warrant and meet you back here at midnight.' He smiled at both of them before taking his leave.

Macmillan began studying Draco again. 'I think he likes you.'

Draco must have misheard. 'What?'

Macmillan ignored his question as he pushed off the wall and walked over to a bookshelf. His shoulders were stiff and his gaze never seemed to settle on a single book. When he spoke, his voice managed a level of threat that Draco grudgingly admired. 'Are you still after Rigel?'

Draco probably looked as owlish as Potter usually did. He had honestly forgotten his original plan for joining Auror training. 'No,' he was able to say honestly.

Macmillan raised an eyebrow to signify that he wanted to be convinced, and Draco was tempted to tell him to fuck off. Macmillan's relationship insecurities were not Draco's problem. But then Macmillan had been civil and had even taken his side against Potter. He sighed as he realised he was going soft.

'I don't fancy him anymore.' He debated how much to say, especially to Rigel's current boyfriend. 'He doesn't respect me. I don't think he ever did.' Draco wasn't sure where to look as he waited for a reply: to look away would show weakness, but he didn't want to see Macmillan's pity. He settled on staring at a bit of hair that stuck out above Macmillan's right ear.

Rather than speak, Macmillan nodded stiffly and then turned away to gathered his things. 'See you at midnight,' he said in a flat tone as he left.

Draco's first raid went as smoothly as everything else in his recent history.

They planned to sneak into the shop at two a.m., figuring that the proprietor—whether early bird or night owl—would be in his bed upstairs. Unfortunately, the shop assistant had used similar reasoning when planning his own raid of the illegal potions ingredients and had already consumed enough Dreamberries to be completely removed from reality by the time they arrived.

Potter and Draco were in the middle of the long, narrow shop—Macmillan had started searching the front area by the windows—when the shop assistant charged out of the back room with his wand drawn. The first Blasting Curse hit the wall to Draco's side and sprayed him with chunks of brick. The shop assistant was screaming about giants and spiders as Potter was shouting at them to get down. A desk exploded with a bang, and Draco felt splinters hit his face before Potter grabbed his arm and yanked him behind a counter.

'So much for avoiding danger,' Draco muttered as he brushed brick dust off his sleeve.

Potter looked ashen as his eyes ran over Draco's body. 'Stay down. I'll handle this.'

'I'm not useless!' Draco seethed.

Potter froze and looked into his eyes. 'I know. But you're a trainee and my responsibility. Please? Stay down?' Potter looked so very earnest with those large green eyes magnified by those ridiculous glasses. It was like being begged by a bunny or a Crup. Draco nodded. Potter's whole face lit up in a grin that almost stopped Draco's heart. 'Thank you.'

And then he was gone. There were shouts and explosions, but Draco couldn't see. Finally he gave in to peeking around the counter to see Potter and the shop assistant hurling spells at each other. Potter was clearly the better dueller—an appealing mix of grace and power—but the shop assistant must have taken something that gave him preternatural speed.

Draco didn't know where Macmillan had gone, but he knew he couldn't sit by and watch Potter duel without acting. He racked his brain for a spell he could cast that wouldn't hurt Potter if he missed. He did not need to be charged with maiming the wizarding world's saviour. And that was the only reason he cared about Potter's safety.

Potter tried again to Stun the shop assistant, but the man dodged easily. Remembering a slowing charm that would affect a whole area, Draco cast. The spell hit Potter as well, but with the shop assistant slowed, Draco easily Stunned him. Once he'd added a few more charms to bind the man on the floor, he ended the slowing spell.

Potter roared in his ear. 'You were supposed to stay down!'

'And I did.' Draco allowed himself a smug grin. 'I was kneeling as I cast.' He made a point of dusting off his knee. Potter grunted. 'A thank you would not go amiss.'

Potter scowled at him and then looked down at the shop assistant's still form. When he looked up again, his lips twitched up in the corner. 'Thank you. You lose points for ignoring a direct order—'

'Request. You said please. And I didn't ignore it.' He brushed his knee again.

'—but, your strategy and spellwork were superb. You'll get your stellar review, you git.' Draco beamed. 'Now where's Ernie?' His grin faltered as Potter raised an eyebrow. 'Don't tell me I have to dock points for losing your team?'

'Harry?' They turned to see Macmillan standing on the stair to the flat upstairs. 'I've got the proprietor tied up in his room. He was trying to escape through the window.'

Draco turned back to Potter with a smug grin. 'See? Everyone present and accounted for. No docked points.'

Potter rolled his eyes but smiled. 'Let me send for back up to help me take these two in. After you've been checked out by a Healer, you can both learn the pleasure of post-raid paperwork.' Potter's grin grew feral as his trainees groaned.

'I can't believe there are more forms!' Draco glared at Form 27B that was asking for the exact same information he had already laid out on Form 7A and Form 1029.

Macmillan was sitting next to him slumped over a set of blue and orange forms he had been scratching away at for what felt like hours. 'I know. What is the point of it all? Can't we complete one report and duplicate it for the various sub-departments? Why do the Ethics Committee and the Safety Board need their own forms?'

'Because they're run by self-important idiots who have nothing better to do than read forms.'

'Well, they should realise that some of us have better things to do than complete them!'

'I agree.' Those were the words that broke the spell of camaraderie and reminded them that they were supposed to be enemies. They sat frozen, staring at each other. The clock on the wall chimed six a.m.

'Did you just agree with me?' Macmillan asked in a hushed voice.

Draco straightened his back and tightened his features. 'Yes, well. You finally said something that wasn't stupid.'

Macmillan shook his head. 'No. Let's not go back to that.' He extended his hand.

Draco eyed it suspiciously, but Macmillan looked sincere. He did have good connections, so he would be a strong ally. Always good to have an Auror on your side, especially when you had the Dark Mark burned into your arm. Draco took his hand and shook it firmly.

They went back to their forms in awkward silence. Draco carefully listed all the spells cast during the raid with a tedious amount of detail. He was completely engrossed by the time Macmillan spoke again.

'I didn't touch your stuff.' Draco froze, his eyes staring at the last word he'd written. 'I didn't know that people were stealing your books and essays. I just thought you were being lazy and not doing the work. I'll admit I was enjoying you getting in trouble. Rigel goes on about how well you did at Beauxbatons, so I liked getting better marks than you.' The way that Macmillan's voice trembled when he said Rigel's name, Draco knew the confession wasn't easy.

'I don't want Rigel back.' Draco had said it before, but it bore repeating. 'I did at first, but not for a while now.' He risked a glance over at Macmillan and saw him manage a wry smile.

'Yes, well. He is a bit overrated, isn't he?' Draco laughed in his surprise. 'Even with your missed essays, you are doing better than he is. The only reason he's still in the program is that Robards and his father were Auror partners years ago.' Draco's jaw dropped open. 'Yeah. Even Robards isn't above pulling some strings for a friend. Politics, huh?'

Draco burst out laughing. Maybe it was hearing Rigel's failings or learning that Robards wasn't the jobsworth Draco thought he was. Or maybe it was just that he'd been up all night dueling a junkie and writing tedious forms instead of sleeping. Whatever the reason, the laughter tore through him and loosened the knots deep in his muscles.

Macmillan smiled at him. 'You know, I used to think it would be terrible if we became Auror partners. Now I'm thinking it wouldn't be so bad.'

Draco felt a rush of warmth and almost smiled before his father's voice echoed in his ears. His stomach felt heavy as he spoke. 'I'm not going to be an Auror.'

'What?'

'Malfoys do not labour,' he recited.

Macmillan rolled his eyes. 'Oh, come on! Don't go spouting that nonsense. You sound like my grandad.'

Draco bristled. 'Well, maybe he's right. Why should the great old families go around acting like commoners?'

'Maybe because the commoners have more fun.' Macmillan gave him a toothy grin that made him look fifteen again. 'Don't tell me you didn't have fun tonight. The thrill of sneaking in. The rush of the duel. The triumph of the capture.' His eyes glowed manically. 'Do you really want to give that up to spend your days reviewing estate books and sitting in stuffy board meetings?'

He leaned forward and his face fell serious again. 'The world is different now. It's never going back. We can cling to some of our traditions, but we do have to change.' He flashed his boyish smile again. 'My brother is an Unspeakable, and he loves it. My father says he envies us.'

Far too much had happened that night for Draco to start questioning his beliefs. 'I'll think about it.' He bent back to his form and the list of spells that had been cast during the raid, but he couldn't remember the spells without also remembering the rush of adrenaline that had accompanied them. More disturbing, he couldn't help but remember each of the varying smiles Potter had directed at him that night.

The next night Potter took them out to the Leaky to celebrate. Draco had spotted a table of Aurors when they'd first walked in, but Potter led Macmillan and Draco to a small table in a dark corner. There they enjoyed privacy among the shadows and general din.

Once he'd bought the first round, Potter had gushed about how well they had done and how, with the report he had given to Robards, Macmillan and Draco were guaranteed to pass training. It was surreal to have Potter singing his praises, but Draco decided that he rather enjoyed it.

He imagined doing this again, even though he had yet to make a decision about becoming an Auror. It wasn't what his parents had planned for him or what he'd imagined for himself, but so little of his recent life had been. He hadn't imagined fearing for his life on a daily basis or having his father go to Azkaban. He hadn't imagined surviving a war only to become a social pariah. Maybe it was time to make new plans, his own plans.

'So have you thought about it?' Macmillan asked when Potter went up to the bar for the next round. Draco was grateful for his absence. Potter had looked so excited when he'd told them they were sure to be Aurors; Draco hadn't the heart to disappoint him. Wasn't that a change?

'I have. I'm still thinking about it.'

Macmillan smiled encouragingly. 'I hope you go through with it. I'm finally understanding what Susan's been trying to tell me all year.' Draco raised a brow in warning. Macmillan failed to heed it. 'She said you weren't a total git.' He smiled cheekily, so Draco threw a Stinging Hex at him. It wasn't a strong spell—damn Hufflepuffs were making him soft—but it was enough to make Macmillan flinch and scowl dramatically.

'Tut tut, Macmillan.' He waved a long finger in Macmillan's face. 'An Auror must always be prepared. Where was your shield?' He gave a lazy smile. 'Constant vi-gi-laaance.' Macmillan threw a coaster at him, but he ducked smoothly and it hit the wall.

'Alright, funny man. Use that vigilance to watch my drink. Those first few went right through me.'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'Charming,' he drawled.

Macmillan flicked him off as he made his way to the toilets.

Draco sipped at his drink and let the murmur of voices wash over him. He'd spent too many nights locked away in his dorm room and forgotten the odd sort of solitude that came from being alone in a crowd.

'Where's Ernie?' Draco glanced up to see Potter balancing a tray awkwardly as other patrons pushed by him.

'Spending a penny.' Potter looked like he was biting back a laugh. Draco scowled. 'He's having a piss. Better?' Potter did laugh at that. 'Heathen.'

Potter set the tray down and slid back into his chair. He smiled at Draco and clinked their glasses together. 'You're one of a kind, Malfoy.' He sounded fond and Draco found himself preening. Potter shook his head as he continued. 'And thank goodness. The world couldn't handle two of you.'

Draco stuck out his tongue, and Potter's cheeks went pink as he stared at it.

'See something you like?' Draco teased.

Potter nodded.

Draco felt the smile fall off his face. 'You're joking.' His voice came out flat as his mind failed to chose an emotion from the whirlwind of surprise, hope, fear, anger, and desire that was tearing through his chest.

Potter sat frozen for only a moment before he shook his head.

Anger. Draco chose safe, familiar anger. 'What, so was all of this just a chat up?' Anger let him believe that the heat on his cheeks had nothing to do with thoughts of Potter and tongues.

Potter came to life again. 'No! No. I think you'll be a great Auror and I really like working with you.' Draco hated that Potter's praise meant so much to him. He was trying to be angry! 'All of that has nothing to do with the fact that . . . well . . . you look good.'

The whirlwind of feelings started again, and Draco hated the part of him that enjoyed hearing those words. Part of him—a small, treacherous part—wanted to believe that Potter could really fancy him, could really care. Hadn't he always wanted Potter's attention?

He stomped it down. Potter was likely looking for a fuck to end his night out and thought Draco was easy. He probably thought Draco owed him or would do anything to be an Auror. He stood up and glared down at Potter. His fist clenched of its own accord. 'If you think that I plan to fuck my way into the Aurors, I'll have you know—'

'What?!' Potter screeched. He stood up and reached out but Draco stepped away. Touching would be too dangerous. 'No! No. Damn it, Malfoy!' He stopped and took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was low and far too compelling. 'Stop. Just stop. As far as I'm concerned, you're already an Auror. And if you weren't, sleeping with me wouldn't change that. I was just . . .' He dropped back into his chair. 'Fuck. I'm shite at this aren't I?'

Yes, Draco thought, but he wasn't saying a word for Potter to twist against him.

Potter looked up at him with slightly sad eyes. 'Can you sit down, please?' It was the tiredness in his voice that caught Draco's attention, even over the din of the patrons around them who were drinking and laughing, oblivious to the fact that Draco's mind was about to explode. 'Give me a second to explain.'

Draco sat down slowly, letting his distrust show on his face. Potter took a deep breath and Draco could all but see him arranging words in his head. 'Let's try it this way.' Potter schooled his expression into something that was almost calm and pleasant. 'Malfoy, would you like to go out for dinner Friday night? Not as an Auror or anything like that. Just two blokes on a date.'

Yes! No. No! A date? It was ridiculous. And yet Potter looked so sincere. The man had never been a good liar, so he must actually want just that. Draco thought about all of the things his parents had planned for him. Then he allowed himself a brief moment to imagine working with Potter to crack a case and then celebrating their victory between the sheets. He felt his face flush.

He had tried it his father's way, hadn't he? And look where that had got him. Perhaps it was time to try a new approach. He felt a heady rush of recklessness as leaned forward and smiled. 'I have very expensive taste.'

Potter let out a gasping laugh, and Draco felt his smile stretch even wider. 'I have no doubt.' Potter's smile was so bright and fond; it lit up his eyes and accentuated the fine features of his face. Draco could see a hint of his Black heritage.

Potter's smile faltered. 'That's a "yes", right?'

Draco let himself laugh at the absurdity of it all: of becoming an Auror after being a Death Eater, of being asked out by Harry Potter, and of Potter's apparent insecurity that he might say no. Draco should have been terrified. Nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for this life. And yet he was smiling and hopeful when he answered.

'Yes.'

One year later . . .

Draco's feet landed gracefully in the entryway of their flat. He toed off his shoes and slid into his slippers as he waited for—

'Draco! You're home!' Yes, Harry still spoke the obvious. He was also still a bit of a brute as he wrapped Draco in a crushing embrace. 'I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow,' he said into Draco's hair.

'Worried I'd miss an opportunity to watch the Ministry grovel at your feet? Ow!' Draco pulled away and rubbed his rib where Potter had poked him.

'The Ministry is not groveling.' Potter stepped forward again and placed one hand on Draco's hip as the other ran over his face and chest. He always did this after Draco had been in the field: checking to make sure that Draco was really there and uninjured. 'It's the standard induction to full Auror status. Exactly the same as you'll have next year.'

'With a smaller audience,' Draco drawled.

Harry had the decency to blush. Clearly having no reply, he began to kiss Draco's neck. 'You know,' he murmured, 'the ceremony isn't for a few more hours.' He ran his hand around Draco's waist and grabbed firmly at his arse.

'Potter, are you trying to get me in bed?' Harry's lips pulled into a wicked little smile at the sound of his surname. The playfulness in his eyes made Draco's heart beat faster. 'I've been home mere minutes after three days in the field.' He stopped short of placing the back of his hand to his brow; it wouldn't do to ham it up. 'I've barely got through the front door! Have you no concern for my well-being?'

Harry's head fell back as he laughed. 'I know you well enough to know that you've enjoyed comfortable beds and fine dining on the Ministry's Galleon. If you weren't so efficient, they'd never be able to afford you.' He ran his thumb down Draco's cheek and smiled his crooked smile that made it hard for Draco to remember self-preservation. It was that smile that had muddled Draco's brain enough to agree to move in with Harry in the first place.

He took a step back to breathe. 'Yes, well. Longbottom helped a bit, too.'

Harry laughed and closed the distance between them again. 'A bit? Don't let him hear that, or he might forget all about second chances and starting over.' Draco knew he'd failed to keep the flash of fear from his eyes when Harry started hushing him softly. 'I'm just teasing, love.'

Draco knew that, but he couldn't help the nightmares in which he walked into the Auror Department only to be arrested and sent to Azkaban. As they'd drag him out, they would pass his desk, but MacCarthy would be sitting there laughing. The photo of Harry was still on his desk, but Harry was hugging Rigel instead of Draco. He would yell himself hoarse that he too was an Auror and that he wanted to see Harry, but Longbottom and Weasley would say Harry was with Rigel and then they would laugh as the Dementors took him away.

Yes, he knew the Dementors were gone. And he knew that Longbottom and Weasely didn't laugh at him anymore and that MacCarthy had moved to Denmark. He even knew, somewhere under his insecurities, that Harry was irrevocably in love with him. But none of that mattered late at night when the dreams felt so real that Draco sometimes woke crying.

They didn't come every night, or even every month, but they lingered to remind Draco that . . . what? His life could have turned out differently? How lucky he was for what he had? Or maybe to remind Draco that, after everything, he was still very much controlled by his fears.

No. Not controlled.

The first morning after one of the nightmares, he had very nearly had a panic attack as he headed into the Auror Department. He'd been a breath away from turning heel and fleeing when he'd felt the solid pressure of Harry's hand on his back. Harry had gently led him to the break room where three Aurors had grunted greetings without so much as looking up from their morning cups of caffeine, and Draco had nearly laughed in relief. He had yet to miss a day of work over a dream.

'Let's get you a bite to eat.' Harry was smiling gently, and Draco felt a rush of affection even as his pride resented being mollycoddled. He let Harry lead him to the kitchen without fuss. 'Ernie brought over some pastries this morning.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Still with the baker, then?'

Harry laughed as he opened a pastry box and removed an eclair. 'Yes. And very smitten. I know you think it's a fling, but I think you're wrong.' Draco pursed his lips to show what he thought of the baker. What sort of Englishman failed to grasp sarcasm? Harry just laughed again as he started making a pot of tea.

'I know you think he isn't good enough for Ernie, but he's really sweet. Even Susan likes him.' Draco wrinkled his nose to hide the weight that statement held with him. Harry, damn him, smiled in that way that meant he'd understood. When had he gotten so good at reading Draco? 'We'll get breakfast there tomorrow and you'll see. You'll like him.'

Draco bit into the eclair and let the rich, subtle sweetness fill his mouth. Perhaps he could be put upon to visit the bakery in the morning. Only to ensure his friend's boyfriend was up to snuff, of course.

They took their tea and pastries to the little pine table by the window that Harry had bought at the Muggle craft fair he'd dragged Draco to. As they ate, Harry filled him in on the past three days' event: the neighbour's cat had dug up the flowers again, but Draco was still forbidden from Cursing it; Harry had spent Sunday at the Burrow and Draco had been missed; Draco's mother had owled about dinner on Friday night and Harry had accepted on their behalf.

Harry twisted his lip and Draco knew there was more. 'Spit it out,' he said firmly. He didn't need Harry protecting him.

'I saw Rigel at the Ministry. He had some boy on his arm and was bragging about getting a diplomatic post in Majorca.' Harry's tone was neutral, and he watched Draco carefully.

Draco turned the new information around in his mind. 'It's perfect for him,' he concluded. Harry cocked his head to the side. 'The wizarding community in Majorca is completely scattered, so Rigel is basically there to monitor the Muggle media for anything that might require intervention. Without a centralised government, other countries would have to step in if someone broke international wizarding law. But there hasn't been a problem in decades, so he'll be paid to lounge on the beach with his boy-toys all day.'

'And what, you're happy for him?' Harry's tone was disbelieving.

Draco shook his head. 'Not particularly, but I don't resent him the cushy posting. I think he'd be good at it, and it's a job that needs doing.' Draco shrugged. 'Honestly, I find that I don't care much one way or another.'

Harry beamed. 'So no torches for your ex?'

Draco choked on his tea. Was Harry really that oblivious? Why would Draco even notice someone like Rigel when he had Harry? Sure, Harry might lack the things that had first attracted him to Rigel in the first place: fine clothes, a way with words, and an influential pure-blood family. But Harry had so many more important traits that Rigel had lacked, like loyalty. Draco might be over Rigel, but it would be years before having been dumped lost its sting.

Draco could try to explain to Harry why he'd chosen him over anyone else. He could list the ways that Harry was a better boyfriend than Rigel could ever be, or tell Harry how Rigel had asked him out months ago only to have Draco slam a door in his face. Draco could could try to put his feelings into words, but he wouldn't. Harry needed things proven, not said. Draco had learned himself how cheap words could be, and Harry deserved better.

In that moment, Harry needed to be reminded of Draco affections, and Draco knew just the way to do it. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw they still had plenty of time before Harry's ceremony.

He picked up a cream-filled doughnut and pressed his finger inside. He removed a dollop of cream and held it up to Harry with an arched brow. He felt his cheeks warm as Harry focused on his finger and he thought about what he was going to do. He stuck out his tongue and ran the tip of it up his finger, catching a bit of cream and pulling it back into his mouth.

Harry was watching him with dark, wide eyes and his hands tightened and flexed against the table top. Staring hard at Harry, Draco put his finger in his mouth and sucked until his cheeks hollowed. A rosy flush spread across Harry's cheeks and neck, and Draco enjoyed the thrill of knowing he'd caused it.

'Interested?' he purred, and he could hear the breathlessness in his voice.

Harry nodded.

Draco stood and arched his back in a little stretch. He knew his shirt would flatten against his stomach and draw Harry's attention to the belt at his waist. He could feel Harry's eyes moving over him, planning how to remove his clothing and touch him.

A shiver of anticipation ran over his skin and he finally let his eyes lower to Harry's. Even knowing it was there didn't prepare him for the heat in his eyes. Being looked at with such hunger, his heart beat as much from fear as desire. He gathered his courage, and he walked around the table to straddle Harry's lap.

Their chests were pressed against each other, and he could feel the heat of Harry's body through their shirts. He traced his fingertips along the soft skin at the base of Harry's neck and tasted Harry's breath in the air they shared between them. Harry's large hands went to his waist and then slid down to his arse to grab handfuls of his flesh.

Draco loved the way Harry held onto him as if he were too precious to risk him getting away. He felt himself harden as Harry pulled their bodies closer together and pressed his mouth to Draco's. Harry's lips were soft, but the line of his chin was stubbled and burned Draco's skin. It was just a hint of pain, but the roughness was thrilling.

Draco pulled back and ran a finger over his reddened skin for Harry to see. He wanted the pain, but he needed to know that Harry would take care of it. Harry obliged with a coo and gentle kisses. Satisfied, Draco let their kisses deepen again until Harry was thrusting his tongue in promise of what was to come. It was hard to breathe, and the lack of air made Draco's head hazy.

Harry moaned and gasped as they kissed, and each sound made Draco feel rich with power—as if he could break Harry by stopping things there. Not that he ever would, but the possibility was enough.

He had initiated to show Harry how much he needed him, but he didn't want the responsibility of leading. He liked the way Harry would guide and care for him because it left no room for failure. All he had to do was enjoy the sensations Harry created in him, and later Harry would call him beautiful and wonderful as they laid in the mess they'd made.

He let his body soften in Harry's arms as he offered himself completely to his lover. The tightening of strong arms around him told him that Harry had understood. Harry was rubbish as words, but he easily understood Draco's moods and needs.

Harry's grip relaxed and Draco felt a rush of disappointment until Harry patted his thigh.

'Bed,' Harry said unnecessarily against his lips.

'Mmm.'

'Bed,' Harry ordered as he started to stand so that Draco was forced to his feet. Draco, feeling much like dislodged cat gave a pout at the loss of warmth and contact. Harry stepped closer and kissed him lightly on the lips. 'Missed you.'

Draco smiled. 'Good.'

'Bed's too damn big for one.'

Draco let his smile transform into a leer. 'Well, then. Let's go fill it up.' His heart quickened as Harry all but growled as he pulled him from the room.

The best part of being an Auror was definitely coming home.

~The End~* * *


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